Dangerous Destiny: A Night Sky novella (7 page)

“Do it! Now!” he said. He was a stocky guy with a big salt-and-pepper mustache and squeaky black boots. I was close enough to smell him—cheap cologne, stale cigar smoke, and more of that terrible fish smell.

Instead of getting on the ground, the woman chuckled. A rivulet of red-tinged drool fell from her distended mouth and landed on the linoleum. The cop took a split second to look where it landed. And in that moment, Little Miss Sunshine high-kicked the officer in the bottom of his chin with her stiletto-heeled shoe. He fell backward, and from the way he hit the floor, I knew he wasn’t getting back up.

The Taser bounced and skittered, and I swear that I don’t know how it happened exactly, but somehow the weapon found its way over to my feet. And then it found its way into my hands.

“Really? I mean,
really
?” Calvin exclaimed, as I held the weapon with two extremely shaky hands. I felt like I’d chugged ten cups of espresso, I was jittering so bad.

But I lifted the weapon to point it at Little Miss Sunshine’s chest—the biggest possible target.

Somehow I knew, despite her bloodied, disfigured mouth and saucer eyes, that she was still smiling at me. Mocking me.

And then she knocked her jaw back into place with a horrible crunch.

“I think you should have listened to the officer,” I said. “Get
on
the ground.”

I acknowledged the cop with only a slight nod, not daring to look away from the woman even for a moment. I could see from my peripheral vision that he was completely still, in a heap between Calvin’s wheelchair and the crazy lady. I inanely wondered how long people typically remained unconscious after being kicked in the chin with a designer shoe.

“Just pull the trigger, dammit,” Calvin urged from between clenched teeth.

Fingers shaking, I aimed the thing and squeezed.

Little Miss Sunshine looked down at her chest, at the hissing and sparking Taser that should have sent her to the floor. Then she plucked it from the front of her shirt, looked up at me, and smiled.

“Look what I can do look what I can do,” the woman continued, and yanked a massive-looking gun out of her bag.

Everyone in the store hit the deck at the sight of the gun—everyone except Calvin and me.

She pointed the barrel at my face.

A nasty wave of déjà vu washed over me. It was mixed with a hefty dose of panic and combined with at least a small degree of consolation that Calvin, as always, had my back.

“Oh,
hell
no!” he barked. All the fear had vanished from his tone, and now he just sounded pissed. “You wanna mess with someone? You wanna put your gun in her face? You’re gonna have to shoot me first!”

And then, things got
really
weird.

“Hey!” someone called from behind Little Miss Sunshine. It was a girl, older than me but probably only by a year or two. She’d appeared as if out of nowhere, but she must’ve come in through the front doors while my attention was on that gun. Dressed in full motorcycle garb—a red leather jacket and black steel-toed boots—she hollered again. “Hey, you!”

Little Miss Sunshine whirled around.

Motorcycle Girl charged forward and flicked the pistol out of crazy lady’s hands as easily as if she were removing a piece of lint from a buddy’s jacket.

The gun spun a couple times before landing on the floor. Motorcycle Girl kicked it back into the air with her foot and caught it with one hand. She tucked it deftly into the back waistband of her pants and then slammed the crazy woman down onto the ground using the palm of one hand. I could have sworn Little Miss Sunshine took a nosedive before Motorcycle Chick even touched her, but then again, I’d been seeing all kinds of crazy things this week.

“Whoa,” Calvin said, while the crowd gasped again.

Little Miss Sunshine landed, hard, and made a gurgling sound. She looked up once at me and pointed, still smiling that awful smile, before her face dropped onto the ground.

The room once again was silent. Mostly.

Sooo
deep
in
my
heart, that you’re really a paaart of meee…

Motorcycle Chick turned, running a hand gruffly through her platinum-blond pixie cut as she looked at me and frowned, her eyes the color of icicles.

Calvin could have caught flies, his mouth was open so wide.

“God
damn
, this music blows,” the girl said as she glared from me to Cal and back again, as if the soundtrack was from our personal playlist.

Around us, the crowd began to move almost as one, with everyone—shoppers and clerks alike—rushing for the door.

I was about to turn too—getting out of there seemed like a brilliant idea—when Motorcycle Girl spoke again. Her words stopped me. “Way to protect Tiny Tim here, Sky. What were you waiting for? A sign from God?”

I looked at Cal—Cal looked at me. And I knew we were both thinking the same thing.

How
the
hell
does
this
girl
know
my
name?

Chapter Two

I’m getting ahead of myself here.

The crappola had really started hitting the fan almost a week before the infamous Sav’A’Buck incident. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that a string of unbelievable events were about to take place that would forever change my life. But then again, who can ever tell something like that?

My week had started out completely normal. It was the usual. School, Calvin, babysitting, dealing with Momzilla—a totally typical few days. If anything, it was an uber-awesome week because I got to babysit Sasha an extra night. Extra babysitting equaled extra money. And, anyway, I loved watching Sasha. She lived right down the street from me, and her whole family was exactly what I wished I had. Even though Sasha’s mom and dad were struggling with money and both needed to work two jobs because of the whole Second Great Depression that everyone kept talking about, they still seemed so
happy
all the time. And relaxed.

Nothing like my uptight mom and her crazy rules. Momzilla always told me that we should consider ourselves “lucky” because we hadn’t been affected by the world economic crisis or whatever. But seriously? No matter how much money we had, I still had paranoid Mom on my case constantly. And
that
didn’t make me feel lucky at all.

Anyway, that Sunday night was the last “normal” evening I would have in a really long time. Sasha sat at her dining-room table as I stood behind the kitchen counter and mixed chocolate syrup into her milk.

“A lot, please,” Sasha said, crossing her fingers together as she swung her pajama-pant-clad legs underneath the table.

“Not
too
too much,” I replied, pouring more syrup into the glass.

“But too too much is
good
!” she exclaimed. Her brown eyes were big and almond shaped and quite serious. “Daddy and Mommy let me have as much as I want!”

“Well. You’ve got it made, then,” I said. “
My
mommy won’t let me have milk
or
chocolate.”

Or beef. Or any soda pop with artificial sweeteners. Actually, the list of things my mom wouldn’t let me eat was longer than the list of things that I
could
. Ever since the accident and then our move to Coconut Key, the rules I had to follow would have given a kindergartner a rash. Compared to me, Sasha was pretty much living it up.

I had to do my homework before I watched TV.

I was not allowed to get into a car being driven by anyone who hadn’t had their driver’s license for a full decade.

I had to be home by ten thirty on the weekend and in bed, lights out, by eleven on a school night.

And blah, blah, blah…

Because life was so dang dangerous now, unlike the incredibly safe and bucolic good old days of the twenty-teens, or whatever ancient but perfect decade Mom had grown up in.

“
Skyylarr!
” Sasha brought me back to the present.

“Sorry,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha’s eyebrows wrinkled up. Her expression of concern made her look way older than a nine-year-old. But she acted way older than a nine-year-old too. Sometimes Sasha was an old, wise person in a little girl’s body. But unlike some kids who had older sisters and were nine going on sixteen, Sasha still embraced her inner five-year-old and liked being babied.

“Nothing,” I said cheerfully as I handed her the glass.

She took a long, luxurious sip before grinning up at me. She had a serious milk mustache and she knew it. She pretended to twirl it with one tiny finger—exactly the way her dad did when he was joking around. “Yumbo!”

I giggled. Sometimes she acted like a wise, old person…and sometimes she was her extra-goofy father’s daughter.

“Okay. Big sips and then bed.”

“Big sips,
tooth
brushing
, and then bed!” Sasha reminded me.

“I stand corrected.”

She drained the glass and then carefully returned it to the sink, making sure that it was rinsed out and set perfectly in the dishwasher before padding deliberately down the hallway to the bathroom.

It was pretty crazy—I had never met a neat-freak nine-year-old before, but Sasha was borderline OCD about certain stuff. It just added to the overall cuteness, though. She was as tiny as an elf, seriously small for her age, with little stubby pigtails and eyelashes that went on for miles. But her elfin appearance hardly matched her little-professor attitude.

I wished I could adopt her.

Or, better yet, I wished Sasha’s parents would adopt me.

“You’ll tuck me in?” Sasha called after she’d brushed her teeth (carefully, of course, complete with milk-mustache removal) and climbed into her bed.

“Of course,” I said, going into her room.

“Thanks a bundle,” Sasha replied cheerfully, curling up underneath her pink bedspread. She held her favorite teddy bear close, placing the soft, downy fur underneath her chin before smiling up at me.

I lifted the covers around her, patting the sides with painstaking precision, just the way Sasha liked it. “I’ll be in the living room doing my homework if you need me.”

“Like if I have a nightmare or something.”

“Like if you have a nightmare or something,” I agreed as I looked around at the immaculately organized bookshelves, her neatly arranged toys—her massive doll collection the little room’s centerpiece. She owned about a trillion old-school dolls, with big glassy eyes and frilly clothes. All of the beautiful brown-skinned dolls were front and center, with the blonds and the redheads at the bottom and in the back. They sat in perfect rows—typical Sasha organization. “But I bet you won’t have any nightmares tonight.”

Sasha looked over at the window, with its chiffon curtains, and I went to double check that it was locked—something Mom had trained me to do long before I was Sasha’s age. Outside, the night was dark and silent.

“Or if I just get scared or something?” Sasha asked as I checked to make sure her collection of night-lights was on.

“Or if you just get scared,” I answered.

Sasha sat up. “Unless you want to stay and watch my dollies dance!”

I gently pushed her back down. This kid was a procrastinator when it came to bedtime, because she was so afraid of the dark. She’d make her dolls perform an entire Broadway show if it meant I’d stay in her room a little bit longer. “I’d love to see your dollies dance,” I replied. “But it’s time for bed now, so we’ll have to play with them another day.”

“No!” Sasha shook her head fast and sat up in bed again. “They don’t dance during the day! Only at night!”

I pushed her down again, this time sitting beside her on the bed and pinning her down with the blankets. “Well, maybe you’ll have a good dream tonight about your dollies dancing. That way, you won’t have any time for nightmares.”

Sasha belly-laughed. “But you don’t
get
it!” she exclaimed through giggles. “They don’t dance
in
my dreams. They dance before I fall asleep! Like this!” She wiggled out from beneath the covers and sat up once more, letting her head loll forward, her arms outstretched like a puppet on strings as she shifted her body back and forth.

I laughed, mostly because the idea of those dolls dancing like that would’ve made Calvin freak. “Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I had dolls that danced around my room at night. But it’s late.”

“I’ll show you next time,” Sasha said, her eyes suddenly solemn.

“Okay,” I said, “but right now, it’s time for all little girls and dolls to stop dancing and start sleeping. Because tomorrow you have to be up early for school.”

“Ew!” Sasha said, her nostrils flaring.

“I know. School is ewwy.”

“No, no.
Eeeeew
. What’s that
smell
?”

I sniffed the air and the stench hit me. Like something had died and then come back to life just so that it could die again and double the stink. I mean, it was
intense
.

“Oh my lord, Sasha, for
real
? Did you just
fart
?”

Sasha had her hands over her nose, looking like she didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. “Nuh-uh!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled through her fingers. She burrowed her face into her teddy bear and made a groaning sound, like breathing the air was physically painful.

It was. My eyes were literally
watering
. “Well, it wasn’t me!” I exclaimed, gagging before I covered my own nose and mouth with my hands. “Good God! You are never getting too-too chocolate milk again, woman!”

She laughed.

The awfulness was fading, but I was still thinking about maybe hurling—or at least offering a dry heave or two to the Gods of Terrible Odors—when Sasha initiated a tickle war.

“Don’t!” I warned her, trying to catch her hands, but the gasping breath I took was filled with fresh, clear, un-stankified air, and I immediately recovered.

Before long, the two of us were hysterical, a jumble of arms and legs on Sasha’s bed, giggling and out-tickling each other until finally we lay there exhausted.